


Burnt

by HawthornBlood141



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthornBlood141/pseuds/HawthornBlood141
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in Hermione's life, dealing with the after effects of the Cruciatus cruse. Post-Shell Cottage and Post-War. Hermione's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burnt

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : Thank you Ari for being so fast at reviewing my wording and grammar and for your input :) Thank you also MsBinns for the crazy fun chats and that French Revolution video *g*
> 
> A fairly good amount of this fic was written while listening to "Evensong" by The Innocence Mission. I highly recommend it as a listening companion.
> 
> Hope you'll like this one. Enjoy!

_She's burning._

If she had to describe it, she'd say the Cruciatus curse felt like her whole body was burning.

She has never been set on fire but she supposes that's what it would feel like. She has burned her fingers a few times, baking or setting up bluebell flames while distracted, by Ron, more often that she'd care to admit.

It never lasted long but the pain of the burn always shot straight to her core and lingered on, letting her skin feeling numb.

Only when she burned herself, the pain would go away quickly, within seconds. When the Cruciatus coursed through her body, it lasted minutes,  _unbearable_  minutes.

She had wanted to die.

Later, in the safe haven of Shell Cottage, she still feels the after effects of the curse. Her body starts burning without warning. And before she can catch herself, she's trashing and screaming on the bed Ron laid her on earlier.

Ron is by her side first. Harry a close second. The rest of them - Bill, Fleur, Luna, Dean - are clamped by the door, staring at her, eyes wide. But she doesn't have the time to register more before her vision blurs from the tears falling angrily on her face. She can hear them - Ron and Harry - repeating her name over and over, their voices rasping. They are crying too. They hold each other.

She thought she was saved. She thought it had ended.

But a second wave of the curses aftershock fire up her core and she screams louder, her throat searing.

She wants it to stop.

Ron and Harry's arms around her, comforting minutes ago, are now smothering her. She pushes them away harshly, welcoming the cold air taking their places.

Flames are crawling under her skin and she wants them to disappear. So she agitatedly starts to scratch herself, hoping,  _willing_  the fire to cut out of her. Ron grabs her hands quickly, pleading her to stop and she ends up punching him. She hits him several times, yelling and imploring him to kill her, to make the inferno in her body stop.

She wants to die.

...

She realises now that there will always be a before and an after. And that she will forever be in the latter,  _after_  her torture.

She's different now.

She stares into space for hours on end. It scares Ron. She knows it does, but she cannot help herself. The burning sensation stays with her a long time after the curse has hit. And in the aftershock, her body burns and her mind goes numb.

A few days after they arrived at Shell Cottage, she is sitting on the beach, watching the seagulls fly around. She wishes then, that she could be as free as them.

The wind is gushing around her, sending her hair - already a complete mess - in every direction and slamming her face. The clouds are getting darker. A storm is coming, she can sense it. Yet, she does not move.

It soothes her, the sharp whistle of the strong wind. The whirlwind is driving the lightest particles of sand out into the sea and it almost feels like she's being washed away.

The seagulls cry. Her body quiver. She closes her eyes.

She wants to be free.

...

After the war is won, the littlest things ignite the fiery imprint of the curse. Things she has no control over. And before she can catch her breath, her body burns all over. Just like it did on the cold stoned floor of Malfoy Manor.

She is doing the dishes - the muggle way - because she likes the cleansing feeling it gives her. She watches the soiled liquid at the bottom of the skin being washed away by the clear water of the tap, and wills the flames under her skin to leave her once more.

She wants to be in control.

...

"Marry me."

He blurts the words abruptly, his eyes wide, as if he's startled he's spoken them.

She sees the sparks in his eyes. Despite the fact that the words stumbled out of his mouth uncontrollably, she knows he wants it. She wants it too. She replays the words in her head, making her reflective silence unbearable for him.

He sets up a very different fire within her than the angry mark on her arm and all the violent spams she still has from the curse.

She says yes and kisses him. Combusting, not from the fire she is used to hating - not this time - but from the deep raw happiness she is feeling.

She can sense tears blurring her vision and burst out laughing. She never thought she'd be that girl who cried at a proposal, but she can't help the exalting feeling that picturing their future floods her with. All she sees is the solid friendship they have and the crushing arguments, the past heartaches and the constant warmth she feels when he's in the room, the mental bickering and the dazzling love.

She wants it all.

...

She can never stop it. Not fully. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes it's hard.

One day it happens when she's at work. And there is nothing even remotely related to the Malfoys, Bellatrix or the Cruciatus when it does. She feels the tell tale burning throb from the scar on her arm, where it always begins now, knows the pain is about to come and that this one will be hard to fight off.

She gets up too fast and knocks her chair over, startling her colleagues. She mutters quick words of apology and practically runs out of the conference room.

She strikes Harry on her way out, not even registering she did so, as her body shakes in remembrance and her mind fails to anchor her in the present.

She reaches her office before it fully takes on, Harry on her footsteps. He catches her while she falls on the carpet and closes the door with a flick of his wand.

He rocks her, trying to soothe the tremoring of her body.

When it finally stops, when she's numb again, she looks at him, her cheeks are tear strained, so are his.

"Hermione..." his voice is hoarse, guilt heavy on his shoulders, realisation sinks in his eyes. Because he knows, she hasn't told him, but he knows what she's going through.

Understanding dawns on her.

She forgets he was hit by the curse too. When he was  _dead_. When he made Voldemort  _believe_  he was dead.

She sees stars, blinks and tries to make them go away. She feels sick.

She wants to forget.

...

During Rose's birth, there's a fleeting second, when the strongest contraction she's had yet, hits her, during which she feels the fire of the curse within her.

She has trouble breathing, but then she remembers where she is, what she's about to do, and it goes away as quickly as it came. Ron is holding her hand, looking at her like she's the most beautiful creature he's ever seen.

She snorts, knowing full well how she must be looking. She's sweating, her hair is an unspeakable mess despite the fact that they are shorter now and her face is flushed.

The next contraction comes and the healer tells her it is already time to push.

She doesn't even realise she's screaming until she looks up at him when the contraction recedes and she catches her breath. Ron is white as a sheet next to her, staring emptily into space. She recognises the inner turmoil she just went through in his darkened eyes, so she squeezes his hand.

"Ron..., " she says softly, but he doesn't move. She can feel another contraction starting and she needs him back with her.

" _Ronald!_ " She almost snarls through laboured breathing as the pain rips through her womb.

His eyes snaps back into hers.

"It's ok."

She is frantic and out of breath, and she puts her hand up to his jaw.

" _This_  is ok," she continues, as she brings his forehead down to hers. "This is good pain. This means she's coming. This means  _life._ "

She's crying openly now. She doesn't want to think of Cruciatus and death right now. She wants to focus on their daughter, on their family.

She catches her breath, both hands holding his face in front of her.

"All right?"

He nods shakily.

"All right," he answers hoarsely.

He kisses her forehead, she takes his hand and braces herself, the next contraction is coming.

She wants to push.


End file.
